


From Colombia, With Love

by Taemanaku



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Black Markets, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Thiefshipping, Thiefshipping - Relationship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taemanaku/pseuds/Taemanaku
Summary: In the tropical town of Medellin, Marik and Bakura discover a mutual love for smuggling Ancient Egyptian artifacts for their new museum business... and for each other.  (Post Season 5).





	From Colombia, With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChaosRocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosRocket/gifts).



> I wrote this originally as a belated Christmas gift ... which turned into a just in time birthday gift for Chaos. Inspired by a trip I took to Medellin last summer that was just too beautiful for words. Hope you enjoy! Thanks to ChaosRocket for doing the beta.

 

A single drop of water coursed down the palm frond far above him before it fell with a wet plop on his collarbone, and trickled down his sweat-soaked shirt. The drop wasn’t materially different from his sweat, but Bakura felt it like a snake crawling down his belly.

“Let’s take a rest,” he told Marik, who was on the other side of the large pulley that housed a metal box.

They were halfway up the hill. It was dark and humid, and the sun’s final light was on the horizon of the giant bowl that was the city of Medellin.

“The infamous, bulging-muscled Thief King wants a rest?” Marik said, grinning, as the shades bounced up and down his sweat-stained forehead. “Don’t be pitiful, Bakura. Ten more minutes until we’re at the top of the hill.”

Bakura was not the weak one. No. He was strong-willed and strong-minded—well, at least his spirit was, but the new body he had acquired after coming back from the dead did not match his spirit. It looked like Ryou’s and acted like Ryou’s but instead of being Ryou’s, it was actually entirely Bakura’s now. And before you go thinking Ryou was dead, no worries, there was an identical Ryou somewhere out in the world that no longer housed Bakura’s soul, and this suited the two of them just fine.

But Bakura was not going to tell this to Marik. Instead, he snapped his teeth together, and continued to pull the pulley.

“I think you’re forgetting the several dozen  _hours_  I have already spent lugging this box around,” Bakura said. “Or does being a corporate scumbag now make you forget that part?”

Marik’s mouth thinned into a straight line. Bakura knew what buttons to press now that they participated in society at large. At least, in part. They were certainly doing their part to funnel money back into Colombia’s economy—it just wasn’t by the most legal methods.

“Shut it, Bakura. At least you get to do something fun all week. My entire work week consisted of signing proposals and being inundated by phone calls. I am thinking a vacation to Cartagena is in order soon.”

Bakura rolled his eyes. Colombia was no Egypt, but the beaches on the coast of Cartagena did afford Marik with a chance to play volleyball and enjoy a Mai Tai in the sand. And apparently with the chance to destress from the corporate world.

They lugged the metal box to the very top as the sun fully set. Bakura waved at the automatic lights near the loading dock and it illuminated his haul. It was a beautiful sarcophagus engraved in hieroglyphics and jewels, and tomorrow it would sit in the very center of the new exhibit Marik had planned. Several other boxes were still on their way from Cairo to fill out the rest of the exhibit, which was due to open in a week.

After storing the sarcophagus in the loading center and closing everything up, Marik and Bakura went back to their apartment.

It was already midnight, but the streets of El Poblado were still bouncing with activity.

“Oye, free drinks for the guy in the suit,” a bouncer shouted at them in Spanish as they walked through the streets. The bars were open, drinks were being poured, and it was just the start of Friday night. Bakura could see the spark in Marik’s eyes—he was the guy in the suit, certainly not Bakura in his gaudy shirt and cargo work pants—but he knew Marik wouldn’t bite at the offer. It had been a long week for Bakura, and despite the jabs, Marik knew better than to ask.

“Another night, my friend,” returned Marik in Spanish.

They had been in Colombia for a few years now. It was an easy life, for the most part. Marik had realized what gave him great joy in the mornings—utter and complete control. Why else had he mind controlled all those Rare Hunters and built an empire with the rare god cards? Because he had what personality exams called “enterprise control” issues. He needed to oversee an entire operation. Doing the dirty work—no, that wasn’t Marik. Telling others to do the dirty work, that was Marik.

So he had joined a startup organization whose sole mission was to start new companies, and then to appoint founders and CEOs to run those companies. Marik quickly found the best fit—opening and running an Egyptian museum in Medellin, Colombia. This part of South America had not been very exposed to Egyptian culture, so Marik capitalized on that. The museum was still in its infancy but doing extremely well.

As for Bakura—once a Thief King, always a Thief King. He was what his business card called, “Director of Artifacts and Special Exhibits.” It wouldn’t be professional to say, “Director of Stealing Egyptian Artifacts and Bringing Them to Colombia Under the Guise of Donations from Famous Patrons” on the card, now would it? But being the director of artifacts was more than paperwork. Bakura went to Egypt nearly every week to scope out old museums, go through pawn shops, and occasionally accompany archaeologists on digs to get his hands on these artifacts. He then worked with a black market dealer to forge paperwork for all these items and have a “legal” paper trail to get them out of the country.

You could say that their lives were perfect. They had jobs that fit them very well. They had a home and a lucrative business.

What more could Bakura want in life?

\--

“Harder, Bakura!” erupted across the flat. “Oh yes, just like that!”

These statements weren’t anything new to Bakura’s ears, but they were certainly still pleasing even after hearing them for several years. After complying with Marik’s demands for varying degrees of service, Bakura finished and promptly pulled out, cleaned up, and went to shower. Marik showed up a few minutes later, eyes half-lidded and languid, his form all but draping into the shower stall.

They didn’t talk much about the act. In fact, other than conversations during sex to clarify positions, preferences, or who would top or bottom this time, there wasn’t anything else to discuss. In regular conversation, outside the bedroom or whatever room was being utilized for their copious fornications, there was no discussion about these acts. They were like two sailors, engrossed in the details of wind direction and knots while out in the vast ocean, but never speaking about the sails while on land.

At first, this didn’t bother Bakura. In fact, he preferred it. Why talk about something when you weren’t going to act on it? The right time to talk was precisely the time to act. He recalled his first days in Colombia, when he saw couples walking down the streets holding hands, and couples dancing on each other while at the clubs, and couples whispering in one another’s ears while at a restaurant, and staring at each other in the candlelight.

What a waste of emotions, Bakura had thought. What needless gestures. If you know you’re going to fuck each other at the end of the night, why bother doing all that stuff leading up to it?

Best of all, Marik seemed to feel the same way. He never asked Bakura to kiss him, hug him, hold his hand, or whisper anything to him. Their relationship was simple, and Bakura had preferred it that way. There was no mis-intention if there were no actions to mis-intend.  

That is… until Bakura started to want these gestures himself.

After living together for a few years, a feeling had slowly overtaken him, lain into his body like a long cold. He began to crave. It was nothing at first—maybe he wanted Marik to lie in bed for a minute longer. One morning, as Marik was getting ready for work, he put his tie on backwards, and Bakura had fixed it for him. When Marik had stared at him, bright eyes intently watching Bakura’s face as he worked, Bakura felt a shiver run down his body.

One day, on the day they would normally have had sex, Marik had called and let him know he was working late, and wouldn’t be home anytime soon. Bakura had spent that night thinking about Marik, imagining him, and working out all the frustrations until his body was spent, and would not come any more from the thought of Marik.

It was infuriating. He was smitten, but he couldn’t tell Marik. Their relationship worked because there were no emotions involved. No long, random kisses across the dinner table, or a quick squeeze of the ass, or a long look.

And so, despite their perfect lives and perfect jobs, it wasn’t perfect for Bakura after all.

\--

The day before the new exhibit opened, Marik and Bakura were grabbing lunch. They were discussing an unusual subject—what to do about a coworker who had left a bag of sex toys in her work locker that day.

“Firing’s not an option,” Marik was saying. “It’s not in the employee handbook that you can’t bring dildos to work, and she’s clearly hiding it well enough if no one else has caught on.”

Bakura frowned. “Shouldn’t you at least bring it up? Isn’t that something a manager should do—instate workplace policies so that doesn’t happen again?”

Marik smirked. “What—does it bother you that someone in our office brought in sex toys?”

“No,” Bakura said far too quickly. “It’s just strange. Not my thing.”

“Oh really?” Marik was really smirking now. His finger lazily swirled a plastic straw around his drink. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t be curious enough to try any of them?”

Bakura folded his arms across his chest. “No, I’m not. I don’t particularly enjoy anything getting in the way when we’re making love—”

At that, he stopped short.

“Making  _love_?” Marik laughed. “Since when did you become a Casanova, Bakura? I had no idea you used such noble words to describe our homoerotic acts.”

Bakura’s face turned red as Marik continued to laugh. He would not recover from this very easily. Damn this new body of his. There must have been something about being more connected with his own body that allowed him to feel more, crave more.

“Shut it,” he finally snapped at Marik. “When we  _fuck._  Is that what you wanted to hear? That’s all I must be to you, if you just want to  _fuck_.”

He was too upset to face Marik now. Bakura stood up wildly, scraping the chair behind him, and left to head back into the museum. He hoped Marik wouldn’t follow. It was all too awkward now. He just wanted to forget it had all happened, and go back to the simplicity of their relationship.

Bakura busied himself by wandering into the new exhibit that would open to the public tomorrow. In the middle of the circular, domed-roof room was the beautiful sarcophagus he had brought in last week. On daises surrounding this artifact were many small items that had been in the room with that particular pharaoh. Each artifact was laid out, light shining down on it, encased in streak-free glass. The work was meticulous, as was all of Marik’s work.

Not an hour later, it was close to sunset, and Bakura heard footfalls behind him.

Bakura turned to face Marik, who was now no longer laughing. Marik’s long blond hair was tousled from the wind outside, and his collar was loose with his tie partially falling down. This was not the meticulous look he normally had, and Bakura could tell something was different. There was a fervent look in Marik’s eyes, as if he had something to prove.

Marik approached Bakura. With every step, he spoke.

“You idiot,” he said. “All these years. I waited for you to say something. Waited for you to signal me.”

Marik shook his head and continued. “And this entire time, you acted like what we had was enough.”

Bakura’s words were lost on his tongue.

When Marik was finally feet from him, Bakura reached out, and pulled Marik close. Marik pulled Bakura’s face towards his, and they shared their first long kiss. The first of many.

“By the gods, Bakura, if you want to make love, then let’s make it.”

**THE END**

 


End file.
